


Trust the System

by Spikedluv



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil has questions about himself, and he’s learned that he can’t trust the system, so there’s only one place he can turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust the System

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I’ve been seduced by yet another fandom/pairing, and while the muse was happy at first to read other people’s fic, she eventually decided that I needed to drop everything and give it a try myself.
> 
> This started as an ep tag for 1.07 The Hub, but then 1.08 The Well aired before I got it written and so the story takes that ep into account and continues after it. While I didn't manage to get the story posted before last night's ep aired, I am posting it before watching it.
> 
> Cameos by other Avenger and SHEILD characters.
> 
> Written: November 27, 2013

Phil sat at his desk, hands resting on the keyboard as he contemplated his options. He’d left the others in the lounge, celebrating a successful extraction and the fact that their team was whole again, and he could hear the low sound of voices and ringing laughter through the open doorway. Phil glanced up at the soft knock on his door frame.

“Skye.”

“A.C.”

Phil raised his eyebrows at the nickname she’d given him, but didn’t say anything. Skye slipped into the room.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Phil said. “I’m just working on my report.”

“Are you going to get in trouble?” Skye asked, concern evident in her voice. “For helping us?”

“No,” Phil said. “Don’t worry about that. Was there anything else?” he said when Skye neither left nor said anything else.

“Oh, yeah.” Skye stepped further into the room and set the plate she was carrying onto an empty spot on Phil’s desk. “We made S’mores.”

“S’mores,” Phil repeated as he eyed the treat as one would a rabid raccoon.

“Yeah,” Skye said as she backed towards the door. “Try not to get any chocolate on your shirt.”

After Skye left, Phil looked between the report he had yet to begin filling out and the S’more. He pulled the plate closer.

Phil was licking the last of the melted chocolate off his fingers when his cell rang. He wiped his hands on the napkin Skye had thoughtfully provided and picked up his phone so he could read the screen. Fury. He’d expected to receive this call much sooner. Phil took a deep breath and accepted the call.

“Sir.”

“Congratulations, Agent Coulson,” Fury said.

“Sir?” Phil said, confused. This wasn’t the way he’d expected this conversation to go. He’d thought there’d be more yelling. On both sides.

“On a successful extraction.”

“Thank you,” Phil said warily, waiting for the ‘but’.

“How are Agents Ward and Fitz doing?”

“They’re doing well.”

“Glad to hear it,” Fury said.

“Sir,” Phil said, wanting to cut to the chase. “There was no extraction authorized.”

“Resources were needed elsewhere,” Fury said. “Besides, we had every confidence that you’d get the job done.”

Phil was livid at the cavalier way Fury spoke about two members of his team, the ease with which he’d been willing to throw away two good agents without even attempting to retrieve them, and then the rest of his statement registered.

“You knew we’d go after them,” Phil said, struggling to keep his voice even. “You’re aware that I’d have been better prepared to ‘get the job done’ if I’d had all the information about the mission up front.”

“It was need to know,” Fury said.

Which was, well, infuriating. Phil’s fingers tightened on the phone. “I needed to know.”

“Your team completed their mission and made it home safely, didn’t they?”

“Yes, sir,” Phil said, knowing he was beating his head against a brick wall.

“There you go, then. If there isn’t anything else . . . .”

“There is, actually,” Phil said. “I’d like some down time for my team. After our last couple of missions we could use it. A week . . . .”

“You’ve got three days,” Fury interrupted. “Send the paperwork through and I’ll sign off on it.”

“Yes, sir,” Phil said.

Phil disconnected the call and set his phone aside before he gave in to the temptation to throw it against the wall. Trust the system, he thought bitterly. Phil closed the door to his office and locked it, then returned to his desk. He opened the bottom left hand drawer and removed the files. He pressed his finger into the small indentation to trigger the spring and the bottom of the drawer slid open. He took out the burner phone he’d purchased the moment Fury had given him this assignment. He’d never had a reason to use it. Until now.

Phil turned on the cell and waited patiently for it to boot up. He opened the search engine and typed in ‘tony stark’. The first link he clicked on, an entertainment blog, told him that Stark was in California for a benefit dinner that weekend. Phil returned the phone to its hiding place and the files to the drawer. He stood and tugged at his cuffs until the sleeves felt smooth beneath the jacket, then buttoned the jacket before unlocking his door and walking down the stairs.

“Agent May,” Phil said when he entered the lounge, and everyone’s attention turned to him. “New flight plan. Director Fury has given us three days off, and we’ll be spending them in Las Vegas.”

The others started talking over each other excitedly at the prospect of time off, but Melinda studied Phil as if she might be able to see directly into his brain. (Given the things he’d seen, Phil wasn’t going to write it off as impossible.) Finally she nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

Phil returned to his office. He needed to file his report on the mission, as well as the request for time off before he would be able to get some sleep. When he woke up, they’d already be in Las Vegas. An hour later, Phil’s tersely worded report and the vacation request had both been submitted directly to Director Fury.

When Phil left his office, Melinda was waiting for him. “Does Director Fury know we’re going to Las Vegas?”

“Nick personally approved the time off,” Phil said. “I’m sure he didn’t expect us to spend it cooped up on the Bus.”

“Why Las Vegas?”

“I thought the kids would enjoy it.”

Melinda rolled her eyes. “They’re going to get into trouble.”

“Not with you and Ward there to watch over them,” Phil said equably.

Melinda frowned. “Where are you going to be?”

Phil smiled. “I’m taking Lola for a drive.”

~*~*~*~

Five hours and thirty-two minutes after he’d left Las Vegas, Phil drove past the Malibu city limits sign. He would’ve made it sooner, but he’d made one stop to refill Lola’s tank, use the restroom, and purchase a box of powdered donuts. At the gate to Stark’s Malibu mansion, Phil held his SHIELD ID up to the camera.

“Agent Coulson,” JARVIS said. “It was my understanding that you were dead.”

“I was,” Phil said. “I got better. Is Mr. Stark available?”

“I’ll check.”

“Thank you.”

Phil didn’t have long to wait. A moment later Tony Stark’s voice came out of the speaker. “Who the hell are you?” he said angrily.

Phil looked directly into the camera. “Agent Phil Coulson.”

“Agent Coulson is dead,” Stark said.

Stark sounded sincere, and it made Phil wonder. “The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” he said, then sighed. “As much as it pains me to say it, Mr. Stark, I need your help.”

“What’s your name?” Stark said.

“Agent Phil Coulson,” Phil replied.

“What’s your first name?”

Phil didn’t hesitate. “Agent.”

The gates opened and Phil took Lola up the drive. JARVIS opened the door for him before Phil could knock. Stark stood in the living room, looking at Phil as if he’d seen a ghost.

“You really didn’t know, then,” Phil said, and felt something inside his chest crack wide open.

“No,” Stark said. “I didn’t know. _We_ didn’t know. You really think we knew you were alive and just didn’t bother to come visit? You think we wouldn’t care?”

Phil tried to keep his face blank, but that was too close to the truth and something of what he was feeling must’ve slipped through because Stark stopped in the middle of his rant and stared at Phil.

“Oh my god, you do.”

“That’s not important right now,” Phil said, trying to regain control of the situation.

“Not important?” Stark sputtered. “I honestly don’t know whether I’m more outraged on our behalf, or yours, that you would think we didn’t care. We came together and won that damned battle because of you!”

“I understand . . . .”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Stark said. “I mean, okay, sure, I guess I can understand why you might think so low of me, but Banner’s a nice guy, and Thor, and Steve. Do you have any idea how Clint and Natasha . . . ? We need to tell them.” Stark pulled out his phone.

“No,” Phil said, somehow managing to speak around the lump in his throat at Stark’s mention of Clint and Natasha.

The one thing Phil could still do was give an order with enough steel in his voice to be obeyed. Stark paused.

“Give me one good reason why they shouldn’t be told right now,” Stark demanded.

“The reason I came to you in the first place,” Phil said. “I need you to run some tests.”

“Are you sick?” Stark said, actually sounding worried.

“No, I just . . . I feel different. I’m not sure I’m really me,” Phil said, putting voice to his worst fear for the first time.

“You mean, like an LMD?” Stark said.

“Or a clone, or one of a dozen other things,” Phil said. “I can’t tell them now only to . . . .”

“Yeah, okay,” Stark said, slowly putting his phone away. “Tests, I can do that. Come on.”

Phil followed Stark to his workshop. “I removed the one tracker I was aware of,” he told Stark, absently touching the tips of his fingers to the gauze at the inside of his wrist, “but you should scan me for others.”

“Are you AWOL, Agent?” Stark said, sounding equally surprised and impressed.

“Of course not,” Phil said. “My team has a few days down time.”

“And you decided to take it in Malibu?”

“Vegas, actually. I took Lola for a drive.”

“Sneaky,” Stark said. “How is Lola doing?”

“She’s fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Stark said. “JARVIS, please scan Agent for tracking devices.”

A moment later JARVIS said, “Scan complete. There are no tracking devices.”

Phil felt tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding ease out of his muscles. “Good. Let’s get started.”

Stark gave Phil an amused look. “You’ve waited this long.”

“That’s just the point,” Phil said.

“Right,” Stark said briskly. “Have a seat. We’ll start with fingerprints, a blood sample, a swab for DNA.”

“Will you be able to hack into my SHIELD records for that information without alerting anyone?” Phil asked as he watched Stark gather the supplies he’d need.

Stark clutched his chest and staggered back a step. “Agent, you wound me.”

Phil rolled his eyes.

“JARVIS,” Stark said as he indicated that Phil should remove his jacket and roll up his sleeves, “do we still have fingerprints and hair samples from Agent’s last visit?”

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS replied.

Stark grinned unrepentantly at Phil despite his glare. “Pull ‘em up, we’re gonna need ‘em.”

“I’ve already done so, sir,” JARVIS said. “The information is up now.”

Behind Stark’s head, Phil saw lines of information appear as if hanging in the air.

“Excellent,” Stark said distractedly as he concentrated on drawing several vials of Phil’s blood. “Thank you, JARVIS.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

“So how come you thought we knew you were alive?” Stark asked as he swabbed the inside of Phil’s cheek.

“Nick told me he would let you all know,” Phil said. Trust the system.

Stark snorted. “And of course you believed him.”

“I did.”

“That was your first mistake,” Stark said.

“My first mistake was getting stabbed through the back,” Phil said.

“Yes,” Stark said, his back to Phil as he did something at his workbench. “As first mistakes go, that one was a doozy. Speaking of.” Stark turned to Phil and rubbed his hands together. “Can I see?”

“You want to see my scar,” Phil said dryly. “Why?”

The scar was an ugly reminder of how close he’d come to dying. It had taken a lot for him to show it to Melinda when he’d given her a glimpse into his fears. But he’d already told Stark his biggest fear, and Stark had merely set about trying to prove (or disprove) Phil’s theory. He started to unbutton his shirt before Stark began to speak.

“Because it would be helpful for me to see it,” Stark said, oddly gentle.

“Yes, of course,” Phil said.

Stark took Phil’s shirt and carefully laid it over his jacket. He raised Phil’s undershirt and peered at the scar on his chest, then walked around behind him to look at the matching scar on his back.

Stark gave a low whistle. “You’re damned lucky you didn’t die.”

“I did, actually,” Phil said. “40 seconds the first time. Or 8, depending on who you ask.”

“First time?”

“My heart stopped three times on the operating table. Or so they tell me.”

“I’d like to take some more samples,” Stark said.

“Of course, anything.”

Stark smirked. “Anything?”

Phil refused to blush. “As long as it’s useful, yes,” he said archly.

Stark just grinned, then told Phil to hold still as he scraped skin samples from various areas on Phil’s body, including his back and chest scars.

“Can you tell me why you’re here?” Stark said as he worked.

“I told you why I’m here,” Phil said. “Because I feel different, and . . . .” He couldn’t say it again.

“Details might help me figure out what to look for,” Stark said. “What’s different?”

“I had trouble clearing a weapon,” Phil said. That still bothered him. A lot.

Stark made a sound that told Phil he was listening and encouraged him to continue.

“I gave myself a physical. Everything came back fine, but I just feel . . . different. I can’t explain how, exactly.”

“You do realize that could all be a symptom of your injury, that you’re just not completely 100% yet.”

“I do know that,” Phil said, unable to work up a good huff since Stark had spoken without his normal acerbic arrogance. “I almost lost two members of my team yesterday.”

“Your fault?” Stark said, surprised.

“In a way,” Phil said.

“What happened?” Stark looked at Phil. “Unless it’s classified.”

“It is,” Phil said, then went on. “They were sent on a mission without an extraction. They weren’t aware.”

Stark raised his eyebrows. “I can’t imagine that you’d have let them go on a mission without knowing they were on their own.”

“I didn’t,” Phil said. “It was need to know. Apparently, I didn’t need to know, either.”

“That . . . sucks,” Stark said. “But they made it out, right? You said . . . .”

“We got them out,” Phil said. “The rest of my team.”

“Of course you did,” Stark said. “But how, if you didn’t know?”

“A member of my team wasn’t satisfied with only knowing what she was cleared to know, so she hacked the mission file,” Phil said wryly. As angry as he’d been at Skye, he couldn’t help feeling a certain sense of pride in her loyalty to the team.

“Sounds like a girl after my own heart,” Stark said. “When do I get to meet her?”

“Over my dead body,” Phil said, startling a laugh out of Stark.

“Dead jokes,” Stark said. “It’s not too early for that?”

“Maybe,” Phil said.

Phil remained silent while Stark collected the rest of the samples he needed.

“I’m not sure if you can afford to lose these,” Stark said as he plucked a couple hairs from Phil’s head, and then took a tissue sample from the small wound in Phil’s wrist where he’d cut out the tracker.

“What’s your blood type?” Stark asked as he studied the readout floating in mid-air.

Phil told him.

“That’s a match, at least,” Stark said. “The rest of the tests will take a little longer.”

“How long?”

“Couple days, at least. You’re welcome to wait here. Mi casa es, well, mi casa, but you’re still welcome to stay,” Stark said.

“Thank you, but I need to get back before my team realizes I went for more than a drive,” Phil said.

“And before they bring Vegas to its knees?”

“That, too.” Phil put on his shirt and carefully buttoned it, looped the tie around his neck and tied it, then slipped the jacket on. With each layer he felt a bit more like himself. At least, how he thought he should feel.

When he was dressed and ready to leave, Phil took a deep breath and bit the bullet. “Thank you,” he told Stark. “For . . . doing all this. I don’t know who else I could’ve turned to.”

As hard as that had been for Phil to say, it appeared equally as hard for Stark to hear. “Well, you’re welcome,” Stark said brusquely. “I’m happy to help.”

Phil turned to leave, but was stopped by Stark’s voice. “Is there a reason you didn’t just check your own medical file?”

Phil hesitated, but he’d already told Stark more than he should have. Let him in more than he normally would have. “I tried,” he said. “I was denied access.”

Stark looked as surprised as Phil had felt. “I thought Level 8 was the highest security level.”

“So did I,” Phil said.

“I could’ve been in and out without them ever knowing I was there,” Stark said.

“Probably,” Phil allowed. He had no illusions as to just how good Stark was. It was the reason he’d come to him despite the fact that he wasn’t a medical doctor. “I don’t want them to know I’m looking.”

Stark nodded. “Last resort then.”

“Yes.”

“Here,” Stark said, and tossed something to Phil.

Phil reached out automatically and snatched it out of the air.

“Latest model,” Stark said, just as Phil recognized it as a StarkPhone. “Untraceable, and gets a signal anywhere.”

“Thanks,” Phil said. It would be better than the cheap burner phone he’d purchased.

“Good reflexes, by the way,” Stark said.

“Was that a test?”

“If it was, you passed.”

Three hours after Phil made it back to Vegas they were called out. Apparently Thor had visited Greenwich University in London and left a mess behind, and Phil’s team was on clean up duty.

~*~*~*~

Phil woke up from the nightmare sweating, his breaths coming fast, and his heart racing. He reached up and pressed a hand to his scar. Phil leaned against his headboard and waited for his breathing and heartbeat to return to normal. He’d had too much of an adrenaline rush to fall back to sleep, so he got up and took a shower, throwing his fear-sweat soaked clothes into the hamper.

Once he was dressed in his suit and felt more himself, Phil made sure that the door was lock and sat at his desk. He performed his daily sweep for surveillance devices before opening the bottom left hand drawer. There were three messages from Stark.

_dna results normal_

_still working on skin and tissue samples_

_ordered catscan, when can you be in ny_

Lack of results was not unexpected, but disappointing all the same. At this point, Phil didn’t know if he wanted the results to prove that he was fully human and the man formerly known as Agent Phil Coulson, or if he wanted Stark to prove that he was some kind of replacement for the real, actually dead Agent Phil Coulson, so long as he knew definitively either way. The uncertainty weighed on him and frayed his nerves.

Phil replied _thank you, I’ll let you know_ and then replaced the cell in the hidden compartment.

Three weeks later a cakewalk assignment in Munich ended up with Phil concussed, Melinda nursing two cracked ribs, and Ward with a through and through gun shot wound to the upper arm. They were recalled to SHIELD’s New York HQ for debrief and PT. Phil texted Stark before they landed. He wouldn’t have wished the injuries on his team, but he couldn’t deny that it had worked to his advantage.

After the debrief, Hill told them that they’d been assigned quarters, and then sent them to medical for an official exam. As soon as he was released, Phil walked out of the building. No one had said they were _required_ to stay in their assigned quarters, and if anyone tried to stop him Phil had the excuse that it had been too long since he’d seen his apartment at the ready.

Phil did go to his apartment first. The locks had been changed after his long stay in medical, but he had the new keys. Phil let himself in and immediately performed a security scan. He changed out of his suit, hanging it carefully in the closet, and put on a pair of worn, comfortable jeans, a white t-shirt beneath a pullover sweater in deep cranberry, and a pair of brown loafers. Before leaving, he bent down and shined up the pennies.

Phil walked out the rear entrance to his apartment building and hailed a cab to take him to Union Station. From there he took another cab to Macy’s, where he purchased a hat and a pair of sunglasses. Phil took another cab to a coffee shop six blocks from Stark Tower. He bought a grande café mocha and walked the six blocks to the janitorial entrance where JARVIS buzzed him in. JARVIS overrode the controls on the maintenance elevator and deposited Phil outside Stark’s lab.

“Agent,” Stark said in greeting. He looked Phil over. “That’s a nice look for you.”

“Stark,” Phil said, ignoring his other comment. “No one’s around, right?”

“Pepper’s busy running my company, Clint and Natasha are at SHIELD for a mission briefing, Banner’s in his lab, Thor’s making himself scarce . . . .”

Phil snorted.

“. . . ever since the Greenwich thing, and Steve’s out visiting sick children, or rescuing kittens, or something.”

Phil nodded. He had considered, over the last few months, and more strongly over the past few weeks, looking up Clint’s and Natasha’s missions, but he was now as afraid to find out that he didn’t have clearance as that he did.

“So, what are we doing?” Phil said to get his mind off that.

What they did was an X-ray, an MRI, a CATScan, and an EEG.

“How is this going to help?” Phil asked as Stark attached electrodes to his head.

“I have no idea,” Stark said, “but I’m going to run every test I can think of until we know something definitively.”

“Or run out of tests,” Phil said.

“Or that. I also want to draw more blood and take some more tissue samples,” Stark said casually. Almost too casually.

“Find something?” Phil said, somehow managing to keep his voice steady.

“I don’t know,” Stark said. He looked Phil in the eyes. “Maybe.”

Phil nodded, unable to find words with his mind racing. Stark touched Phil’s arm.

“Relax,” Stark said gently. “At least the X-ray didn’t show you full of adamantium.”

“That would’ve been cool, actually,” Phil said with a wistful air, allowing Stark’s light tease to distract him.

When all the tests had been run, the last vial of blood drawn, the last tissue sample taken, Phil sat in the lounge right off Stark’s lab enjoying a cup of coffee. Despite knowing that he was the subject of Stark’s current research, Phil found the hum of machinery, and the occasional sound that Stark made, rather soothing. Plus, the coffee was damned good.

If he left now he’d only be returning to his empty apartment, or his even less appealing quarters at SHIELD HQ, and Phil found that he didn’t really want to be alone right now. He also found it somewhat comforting to be in the same building were Clint now lived, in the same room with one of the people with whom he lived and worked.

Phil raised the mug to his lips, inhaled deeply of the heavenly aroma before taking a sip he nearly choked on when he heart Clint’s voice.

“Hey, Stark, you busy?”

Phil would’ve thought he was hallucinating if Stark hadn’t replied, “I’m in the middle of something right now, Barton, but what do you need?”

Stark’s voice was brisk, a little bit distracted, all normal for when he’d been interrupted in the middle of something. Nothing to give away the fact that he had Phil secreted away in his lounge. Even though Phil was mostly hidden, he hunched his shoulders and made himself appear smaller. Nothing to see here, he thought.

“I wondered if you could look at my bow. My shots were a little off. I had to compensate two degrees to the left.”

“You were going to take it on a mission like that?” Stark said, both annoyed and concerned.

Phil heard movement, imagined Stark taking the bow from Clint. He heard the shrug in Clint’s voice when he replied.

“It’s my favorite, and besides, I was aware of the problem so I could compensate.”

“You shouldn’t have to compensate,” Stark said.

“And now I won’t have to.”

“Speaking of missions,” Stark said absently. “What happened to yours?”

“Cancelled,” Clint said. “They didn’t tell us why. We were already on the Quinjet when we got the stand down order.”

“Natasha come back with you?”

“No, she wanted to spar, work off some of the mission adrenaline. I’d have stayed to practice, but I wanted you to look at my bow as soon as you could. No rush, though.”

Phil could hear the smile in Clint’s voice and it made him ache for something he’d never had.

“Thanks,” Stark said dryly. “I’ll let you know when I’ve had a chance to look at it.”

“Okay,” Clint said. “You working on another suit?” he asked with only casual interest and Phil wanted to give Clint a hug when he thought about him making an effort with his teammates.

“Heh,” Stark said. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Alright, I’ll let you get back to it, then,” Clint said.

“Talk to you later, Barton,” Stark said.

Phil set the mug aside. He didn’t think he could swallow anything without choking on it. He gave himself a few moments to get his heart rate under control before stepping back out into the workroom.

“That was close,” Phil said, voice surprisingly even after hearing Clint’s voice for the first time in months.

“It was,” Stark agreed. “JARVIS, let me know if Barton returns.”

“Of course, sir,” JARVIS said.

“I hated lying to him,” Stark said. “Bad enough I was lying before by omission, but now I’ve lied to his face. I don’t have many friends,” he added. “I’d like to keep the ones I do have.”

“Sir,” JARVIS said.

“I’m sorry,” Phil said. “I appreciate . . . .”

“You should tell him,” Stark interrupted.

“I will,” Phil said.

“Sir,” JARVIS tried again.

“When?” Stark demanded, raising his eyes from his workbench and looking right at Phil.

Phil opened his mouth to tell Stark what he already knew, but Stark went on before Phil could speak.

“How many tests are going to be enough?” Stark said, his voice careful, as if he was speaking to a child, which was rich, coming from Stark.

Before Phil could say as much, the sound of the door to the lab gliding open again was louder in Phil’s ears than it should’ve been given that they were nearly silent.

“Agent Barton’s here, sir,” JARVIS said as snottily as an AI could.

“Hey, Stark, I forgot . . . .”

Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, as if he was suspended in molasses. Phil turned his head to the door to see Clint standing there, the look of shock on his face changing to one of betrayal.

“Clint,” Phil said.

Clint was gone before Phil could get anything more out, the door sliding closed silently in his wake, a mockery to the sound of Phil’s heart pounding in his ears.

“Well,” Phil said, unable to work up his usual poker face. Clint’s reaction was no less than Phil had expected at discovering he’d been lied to, and yet the ache of disappointment pressing against his chest was acute. “That could’ve gone better.”

Stark didn’t say anything, which Phil appreciated, since anything that came out of his mouth would’ve certainly sounded a lot like, ‘I told you so.’

The door opened and Clint was suddenly right there again. Phil’s heart dove into his belly before lodging in his throat.

“Fuck you, you son of a bitch,” Clint said.

“Clint,” Phil said, unable to say anything else.

“I’m really fucking pissed at you,” Clint said.

Despite the anger and hurt in Clint’s voice, Phil felt a small smile curling the corners of his lips.

“You think this is funny?” Clint demanded.

Phil shook his head. “No. I’m just really glad to see you.”

“Apparently you could’ve seen me at any time during the last six months,” Clint said.

“I know,” Phil said. “I mean, I know that now.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Clint said, sounding worried. “Did you have amnesia, or something?”

“No,” Phil began, only to be interrupted again.

“Agent thought we knew he was alive and couldn’t be bothered to visit,” Stark butted in to say.

“What? Why . . . .?”

“Dying for 8 seconds apparently gives a guy low self-esteem,” Stark said.

“40 seconds,” Phil automatically replied.

“You haven’t heard the last of this, either,” Clint told Stark.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Stark said, “but for now I need you to sit on him while I’m gone.”

“Where are you going?” Phil said.

“I’m going to have Banner take a look at some of these results,” Stark said.

“Wait,” Phil said.

“Cat’s out of the bag now, right?” Stark said, and then he disappeared out the door before Phil could stop him.

The silence that fell in Stark’s wake was heavy. For a moment Phil actually wished Stark back because no matter how irritating he could be, at least he filled the silence.

“I’m sorry,” Phil said when the silence grew too heavy for him to bear any longer.

“That’s not good enough,” Clint said.

“I should’ve made sure you knew,” Phil went on, as if now that he’d started talking, he couldn’t stop the words. “I shouldn’t have believed the worst when no one showed up to visit.”

“No, you damned well shouldn’t have,” Clint said. He was still angry, but Phil could sense a hint of thaw in his tone.

Phil wanted to apologize again, but he knew that words alone weren’t enough. He didn’t know what else he had to offer.

“What are you doing here?” Clint said. “With Tony.”

“He’s running some tests for me,” Phil said. If words weren’t enough, maybe honesty would be.

Clint gave a humorless laugh. “The suit he’s working on.”

Phil shrugged. “Stark likes his little in jokes.” He suddenly felt very tired and his head had started to ache. He reached up and touched the small bandaid above his forehead.

“Are you alright?” Clint asked.

“What? Oh, yeah, yes,” Phil said. “Could we sit down, though?”

“Yes,” Clint said. He took Phil’s arm and led him back to the lounge. Clint set Phil on the couch and then moved away. He returned with a glass of water and two aspirin. Phil took them gratefully.

“Thank you.”

Clint sat on the low table in front of the couch and studied Phil. He took the glass when Phil was done with it and set it behind him on the table.

“What happened?” Clint said, indicating Phil’s head.

“I’d tell you,” Phil said, “but then I’d have to kill you.”

It fell flat.

“That’s not as funny as it used to be,” Clint said.

“No,” Phil agreed. “I got hit in the head. Had a concussion, but I’m fine now.”

“I can see that,” Clint said dryly. “What kind of tests are Stark running? Are you sick?”

“No,” Phil said. “I’m not sick, I . . . . Stark is . . . . He’s testing my blood, my tissue, and, well, everything. To make sure I’m really me.”

It was harder than he’d thought to speak those words to Clint.

“What do you mean?”

Phil turned his head. He couldn’t look at Clint when he answered. “I feel different. And there are some things I can’t explain, and some things I don’t remember. And I can’t access my medical files.”

“So, what,” Clint said, “you think you might be a T-1000 or something?”

Phil’s lips twitched despite the seriousness of the moment. “That would be one explanation.”

“What has Tony figured out?”

“Nothing. I don’t think. The first time he took blood and . . . .”

“The first time?” Clint said. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been to see Stark?”

“No,” Phil said. “The first time was about four weeks ago in Malibu.”

“Stark has known for four weeks that you were alive?” Clint said.

“Yes,” Phil said. “I asked him not to tell you.”

“Why?” Clint demanded.

“It would’ve been cruel, if what I . . . .” _feared_ “. . . suspected was true,” Phil said. “To tell you I was alive only to discover that I wasn’t really me. But I wanted to,” Phil added. “Because I missed you. And Natasha, of course.”

“Of course,” Clint said.

“But mostly you,” Phil said. “Since I’m being honest.”

Clint reached out and took Phil’s hand. He turned it over and rubbed his thumb over the small scar near the tip of Phil’s index finger.

“That one was your fault,” Phil said.

Clint raised his eyebrows. “As I recall, it was because you couldn’t bait a hook.”

“I was nervous,” Phil said.

“You’ve faced down Hydra goons, and a little worm made you nervous?”

“It wasn’t the worm,” Phil said, and finally let his gaze settle on Clint the way it wanted to, soaking in every detail, from the color of his eyes and the softness of his eyelashes against his cheek, to the angle of his jaw and the new worry lines on his face.

“Tell me about your suspicions,” Clint said.

Phil did. He told Clint about not being able to clear the weapon and just feeling different, about ordering his own physical and being unable to access his medical file, which had been the final straw causing him to seek out Stark.

“I don’t remember being revived,” Phil went on. He’d thought about all of this so much, it was nice to finally be able to tell it all to someone in more than bits and pieces that made him look like he was cracking. “I don’t remember a hospital stay. I just remember going from the ICU to Tahiti.”

“Tahiti?” Clint said, speaking for the first time during Phil’s explanation.

“It’s a . . . ,” Phil began, then broke off and swore.

“What is it?” Clint said.

“Tahiti,” Phil said without inflection. “It’s a magical place.”

“Okay?”

“It’s a thing,” Phil said. “Whenever I mention Tahiti, I . . . .”

“It’s a magical place,” Clint said.

“Yeah.”

“Do you think it’s a trigger?”

“I don’t know,” Phil said. “If so, for what?”

“Your memories?” Clint said.

“Memories of what? I don’t have any memories!” Phil said.

“Except of Tahiti,” Clint said.

“You think they’re covering up something?”

“Or blocking it.”

“Huh,” Phil said. It was possible. Heck, Phil had been thinking things even more improbable to the normal person, like LMDs and clones. But if it was true, that mean there _was_ something to hide.

“Is it possible to tell if someone’s been hypnotized, or if a trigger of some sort has otherwise been implanted?” Phil asked.

“We’ll ask Stark when he gets back,” Clint said. “Right now, tell me about the tests he’s run so far.”

Phil told him, and through it all Clint kept hold of his hand.

“My blood type and DNA are matches,” Phil said when he’d finished. “And my skeleton hasn’t been enhanced with adamantium.”

“I can’t tell whether you think that’s a positive or a negative,” Clint said.

“Me neither,” Phil admitted. “I told Stark that it would’ve been cool, and once upon a time I would’ve believed it, but right now, given the choice between having enhanced skeletal strength and being normal, I’d rather be just me.”

“If it makes any difference, I’m kinda fond of ‘just you’,” Clint said. “You’ve always been larger than life to me, anyway,” he admitted.

“I’m nothing special,” Phil said.

“And the fact that you really believe that is . . . .” Clint shook his head. “I’m still really mad at you,” he said.

“Understood,” Phil said.

“But I’m really glad you’re alive.”

“I’m kind of happy about it, too,” Phil said.

“You won’t be when Natasha finds out,” Clint said.

“I don’t suppose we could put that off?” Phil said.

“I won’t lie to her, not about this.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Phil said. “I shouldn’t have joked about it.”

“We grieved for you,” Clint said, ducking his head to hide his face, his grip on Phil’s hand tightening as if he might slip away.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Phil said. “If I could go back and do things differently . . . .”

“You’d still confront Loki,” Clint said.

“Well, yes, probably,” Phil said. “He had . . . you. But I wouldn’t assume that you knew I was still alive.”

“I can’t believe you thought we wouldn’t come see you,” Clint said.

“Possibly not my best moment, but I’m going to claim temporary insanity due to the fact that I don’t know what the hell actually happened to me after I died,” Phil said, letting his frustration show.

“Did you just flap?” Clint said.

“What?”

“I thought you were unflappable.”

“I’m only human,” Phil said, irritated without knowing why, since he’d been the one to cultivate that reputation.

“I know that,” Clint said, at the same time that Phil said, “I hope, anyway.”

Clint bit his lip, but then he gave up and laughed. Phil smiled; he’d missed the sound of that.

“That was bad,” Clint said.

Phil shrugged. He reached out and touched a scar on Clint’s arm that had caught his eye.

“This is new,” Phil said.

Clint glanced down at his arm. “First mission after I was cleared for duty after . . . everything.” He shrugged. “My own fault. I kept listening for your voice in my ear and I got distracted.”

“I’m sorry,” Phil said, absently rubbing his finger over the scar. “I wish I could’ve been there for you.”

“I wish I could’ve been there for you, too,” Clint said.

Phil looked at Clint’s face, and it struck him again just how much he’d missed seeing it everyday. “You’re here now,” he said.

“Yes,” Clint agreed. “And so are you,” he said, sounding as if he’d only just realized it. “I told myself that if I ever had a second chance, I wouldn’t waste it.”

“Second chances shouldn’t be wasted,” Phil agreed, though he had no idea what Clint might be talking about.

“You should tell me now if you don’t want me to kiss you,” Clint said.

“I . . . you . . . what?” Phil said, but he reflexively sat back when Clint slid forward off the table and onto the couch, kneeling with his legs on either side of Phil. Phil couldn’t complain, wouldn’t have even if he could find the words, when he ended up with a lapful of Clint. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, and he ended up setting them onto the strong thighs straddling his own legs.

“I’m waiting,” Clint said, a little breathlessly.

“For what?”

“For you to tell me no.”

Phil was not going to tell Clint no. This was something he’d never allowed himself to want, and if Loki hadn’t happened, if he hadn’t been dead for 40 seconds, he might yet deny himself. But second chances were exactly for things like this, things you’d never allowed yourself to want. Phil slid his hands up Clint’s thighs, warm and firm beneath his palms, to his hips, and then back down, gripping beneath his thighs and giving a yank, dragging him that much closer. A huff of breath, surprise and something else, escaped Clint’s mouth.

“You’re not going to say no,” Clint said, as if he couldn’t believe it.

“I’m not going to say no,” Phil agreed.

Clint moved his hands from where he’d braced himself against the back of the couch to Phil’s shoulders. He slowly slid them up Phil’s neck until he gently cradled his jaw in both hands. Clint lowered his head and pressed their lips together. He brushed kisses against Phil’s lips, light, teasing touches that made Phil ache for more.

“Barton,” Phil rasped.

Clint raised his head and looked at Phil with eyes wide and dark. “Sir?”

“Kiss me like you mean it,” Phil said, and had to bite back a whimper when Clint groaned and somehow managed to bring their groins even closer together.

“You’re awfully bossy, sir,” Clint said, and then he attacked Phil’s mouth before he had a chance to respond.

Clint pressed his thumb into the corner of Phil’s mouth and licked inside with his tongue. He slid his other hand into Phil’s hair and tugged his head back until he had Phil exactly where he wanted him so he could more easily plunder his mouth, mapping and laying claim to every surface.

Phil clutched at Clint’s thighs like a drowning man. He slid his hands up until he could grip Clint’s hips and just held on as their tongues danced together. Clint pulled back and Phil followed, eager to have Clint’s mouth against his own again. Clint pressed butterfly kisses to Phil’s lips and despite the need to catch his breath Phil tried to recapture Clint’s mouth. He felt Clint’s smile against his lips.

“You’re not saying no,” Clint said with wonder.

“I’m really not,” Phil said. He slid his hands up, fingers slipping beneath Clint’s t-shirt, tips pressing against warm skin.

“You really want this?”

The warm feather of Clint’s breath across Phil’s lips was distracting. “I died,” Phil said. “I think I deserve something nice.”

“You think I’m nice?”

“Fishing for compliments, Barton?”

“Maybe.”

Phil pressed his hands against Clint’s back, let the warmth of his skin seep into Phil through his palms. “You know how there’s this thing, at Christmas, or your birthday, you want it so badly you’re afraid to even think about it in case you jinx yourself, afraid to hope?”

Clint nodded.

“You’re my thing,” Phil said.

Clint laughed, but it wasn’t at Phil. He ducked his head and looked at Phil through his lashes. “I’ve never been anyone’s thing before.”

Phil shrugged. “Their loss.”

“I’m gonna kiss the hell out of you,” Clint declared.

“Okay.”

Clint bit and sucked on Phil’s lips before inviting Phil’s tongue into his mouth. Phil pressed his hands against Clint’s back as if he could draw him any closer than they already were. Clint rolled his hips and dragged a groan out of Phil’s throat.

“Oh my god, my eyes!”

Stark’s voice was like a bucket of ice water. They jerked apart, but Phil didn’t release his hold on Clint, and when he realized he wasn’t going to be allowed to escape, Clint relaxed against Phil and buried his face in Phil’s neck.

“When I told you to sit on him, I didn’t mean literally.”

“Fuck you, Tony,” Clint grumbled, lips tickling the sensitive skin at Phil’s throat as he spoke.

“Looks like you’ve got that covered,” Stark said cheerfully. His tone turned serious as he continued. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got something you might want to see.”

The reality of Phil’s current situation came rushing back at Stark’s words. Clint sat up and leaned back, but Phil didn’t drop his hands.

“It’s alright if you change your mind,” Clint said, the blank expression on his face putting the lie to the words.

“I won’t,” Phil said. “Though I might reconsider the wisdom of making out with you in the lounge in Stark’s lab in future.”

“What can I say,” Clint said. “I’m irresistible.”

“Yes,” Phil agreed. “Let’s go see what Stark found.”

“It’ll be fine,” Clint said as he reluctantly slid off Phil’s lap.

Phil didn’t let go of Clint so much as let his hands slip off him as Clint stood. Clint took Phil’s hands before they could fall away and pulled him to his feet. Together they walked out into the lab.

“Dr. Banner,” Phil greeted when he saw the other man, heat crawling up his neck since he hadn’t realized Banner had returned with Stark.

“Agent Coulson,” Banner said. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Thank you. You, as well,” Phil said, then addressed the reason they were all there. “You found something?”

“We did,” Banner said, then turned to Stark, who flicked a photo up onto the virtual screen with a flourish.

“This,” Stark said, “is your blood.”

“We took a photo under the high res microscope,” Banner explained.

“Obviously,” Stark said.

“Obviously,” Phil agreed.

“And this,” Stark went on, ignoring them and expanding the photograph so he could point to something in it, “is a foreign object.” He gave Phil a pleased look.

“A foreign object,” Phil repeated numbly, and felt Clint move to stand close enough that their arms brushed.

“What kind of foreign object?” Clint said.

“We think it’s a parasite,” Banner said.

“Why . . . ,” Phil began. “I mean, what . . . ?”

“We believe it might be what healed you,” Stark said. “JARVIS, the video, please. Watch,” he said to Phil.

Phil watched, but he didn’t know what he was seeing.

“That’s your tissue sample,” Banner explained. “We applied an electrical shock, which killed some of the cells.”

“And these guys rushed in to repair them!” Stark said.

“They didn’t repair them,” Banner said, “they replaced them.”

“Same difference,” Stark said, and Banner rolled his eyes.

“Whatever these things are, they appear to have removed the damaged cells from your body by ingesting them, or something, and replaced them with new, healthy cells,” Banner told Phil.

“So what you’re saying is they ate the bad cells and pooped out good ones,” Clint said.

“That’s not . . . ,” Banner began.

“Essentially, yes,” Stark said.

“Cool,” Clint said. “Disgusting, but cool.” He grinned at the look Phil gave him.

“It’s a symbiotic relationship,” Banner said. “You keep them alive, and they keep you healthy. In fact, they might even be able to replace cells that are damaged by the natural aging process. Though that would take a lot more research than we’ve had time to perform yet,” he added at Phil’s look.

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t appear that they were able to reverse any aging that’s already taken place,” Stark said irreverently. “The point being, we think these puppies might be why you’re here with us today.”

“We believe they may have healed the damage caused by Loki’s staff,” Banner said.

“I want to name them,” Stark announced.

“No!” Phil, Clint and Banner all said.

Stark pouted.

“Would it be possible to get rid of them?” Phil asked.

“Why would you want to?” Stark said.

“Because I don’t like the idea of foreign objects living inside me,” Phil said.

“But,” Stark sputtered, “they’re helping you!”

“For now. What if one day they turn on me?” Phil said. “We don’t know if they’re even of this world. Did you check them for Chitauri or Asgardian signatures?”

“We did,” Banner assured Phil. “There was nothing.”

Phil was only partially mollified. He didn’t like the idea that someone might have used alien tech on him and withheld that information from him. And then he thought of something else.

“I still have my scars,” Phil said. “If they’re healing me, why didn’t they fix that, as well?”

“Hmm,” Stark said. “It’s possible they can be programmed. If you didn’t have a scar, you would’ve known something was up. We’ll need to study them further.”

Studying them would take time that Phil didn’t want to waste, especially not if they were under someone else’s control. What if they could be instructed to undo all the fixes they’d made since Phil’s death? Phil turned to Clint.

“Some of this information might be in my medical file,” Phil said.

“You said you didn’t have access to it.”

“I don’t.” Phil looked at Stark. “But I know someone who can get it for me.”

Stark looked up from where he’d been tapping at his tablet. “What?”

“I think it’s time we take a look at my medical file,” Phil said.

Stark looked like he didn’t understand for a moment, and then a smile spread across his fce. “Did you hear that JARVIS?”

“I did indeed, sir. Since I hear everything.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Stark said.

Phil didn’t hear the door glide open over the sound of Stark’s excitement to break into a SHIELD classified file, but he felt Clint tense beside him. Phil was prepared, though he didn’t know for what exactly, when Natasha spoke.

“What is everyone doing in Stark’s lab?” Natasha asked.

“We’re having a party,” Stark said.

“Without me?”

“We would never . . . ,” Banner began.

“Everyone’s invited,” Stark said distractedly. “Didn’t JARVIS send you an invitation?”

“Yes, actually . . . .”

“Wait,” Clint said. “She got an invitation?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Barton, you were already here. Pepper and Steve got invites, too.”

“It doesn’t look like one of your usual parties, Stark,” Natasha said.

“Because it isn’t. This one’s better because I’m hacking into SHIELD right now.”

“Should we know that?”

“Oh, and also welcoming Agent back to the land of the living.”

“Agent who?”

Phil stepped out from where he’d been mostly hidden by Banner and Clint. “Hello, Natasha,” he said.

Natasha stared at him for a moment, but recovered quickly. “Coulson? Is he real?” she asked the others.

“As far as we can tell,” Stark said as he tapped keys and spoke with JARVIS and watched their progress on the screen.

“Good,” Natasha said as she stepped towards Phil.

Phil didn’t know exactly what to expect from her, but he wasn’t terribly surprised when she punched him. Thankfully she’d pulled the punch so he didn’t end up with a broken jaw. Before Phil had fully recovered from the blow, Natasha threw her arms around him and hugged him to within an inch of his life.

“I could kill you,” Natasha said into Phil’s shoulder.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Nat,” Clint said gently. “I think he’s having trouble breathing.”

Phil wasn’t, but it was a near thing. Plus, he couldn’t deny that the hug had felt nice.

“Here,” Clint said, and handed Phil a cold pack. When Phil didn’t move quickly enough for Clint’s liking, Clint took Phil’s hand and raised it to his face.

“I’m fine,” Phil said, then added, “But thanks,” off Clint’s look.

“Doc,” Stark said, “see how long it takes that bruise to heal.”

“Sorry about punching you,” Natasha said, practically spitting out the words.

“That’s alright,” Phil said. “I’m sure I deserved it.”

Natasha didn’t argue. “Explain.”

“Stop talking,” Clint told Phil, “and keep the cold pack on it. It’s a long story,” he told Natasha, “but I’ll sum it up in two points and you can get the details later. One, Phil thought we knew he was alive.”

“The distinct lack of him _not being here_ didn’t clue him in to the fact that we in fact _didn’t know_?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna let him field that one when he can talk,” Clint said, somehow managing to give both Phil and Natasha annoyed looks.

“Second,” Clint went on. “Tony’s running tests to make sure that Phil is . . . Phil. Which he is.”

“Mostly,” Phil said.

“No talking. Cold pack,” Clint said. “There are a lot of details,” he said to Natasha, “but that’s the gist of it.”

“You forgot the third point,” Stark said as his fingers danced over the keyboard.

“What third point?” Clint and Phil both said, distrustfully.

“Clint made a move on Agent,” Stark said gleefully.

Phil felt his cheeks heat up.

“You hit him, too?” Natasha said, brow furrowed in confusion.

“If by that you mean hit _on him_ , then yes,” Stark said.

Phil glanced at Clint, who’s ears had turned red.

“I’m going to come over there and punch _you_ if you don’t shut up,” Clint told Stark.

“No you won’t,” Stark said, “because I am so clo-o-ose. And I’m in!” he said triumphantly. “What file am I looking for?”

Phil rattled off the number he’d memorized weeks before he’d attempted to access his own file. “BCY307604.”

“You can tell me whether he’s a good kisser later, what are we looking for now?” Natasha said.

“Phil’s medical file,” Clint said.

“Death and Recovery, actually,” Phil said.

“They actually have a category for ‘death and recovery’?” Banner asked.

“Found it,” Stark said, his excitement at having hacked SHIELD evident. “JARVIS, display.” Stark looked up and Phil followed his gaze, expecting to see his medical records displayed, but there was nothing.

“Where is it?” Banner said.

“Problem,” Stark said, fingers moving quickly. “The file’s empty.”

“What?” Phil said.

“It’s a decoy,” Stark said. “Except it can’t be empty because the size of the file indicates that something has to be inside it. Shit!”

Phil felt his adrenaline spike.

“JARVIS, can they see us?”

“No, sir,” JARVIS responded.

“Good. Can you download a copy of that file on an external drive, and make sure it can’t access anything else?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Back us out of there and make sure nothing follows us.”

“Of course, sir.”

“What happened?” Phil said when Stark raised his hands from the keyboard, just managing to keep himself from snapping, “Report!”

“The file appeared empty,” Stark said, “but it wasn’t. There were no medical records, but there was a nasty little virus that’s supposed to alert someone that we tired to access the file, and probably follow us back to A) find out who we are and B) wreak havoc with our own files.”

“Someone really doesn’t want you to see that file,” Clint said.

“Which only makes me all the more determined,” Phil said. “Except the file doesn’t exist.”

“Not necessarily,” Natasha said. “Who has the clearance level to hide something from even you?”

“Director Fury,” Phil said.

“And when he wants a report ‘eyes only’?”

“Hard copy,” Phil said.

“It’s in his office,” Clint said.

“We can’t get to it, then,” Phil said, disappointment sitting in his gut like a rock.

“Stark can’t,” Clint said. “But I can.”

“How . . . ? No,” Phil said when he realized what Clint had in mind. “You could get caught.”

“They’ll never even know I’m there.”

“What if Fury’s been alerted to the fact that we accessed the decoy file? He could be expecting an attempt to retrieve the physical file.”

“All the more reason to do it now. And it’s not like I’d go in if he was sitting at his desk,” Clint said. “I’m not stupid.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Phil said. “I just don’t want you to get caught doing this for me.”

Stark’s sharp whistle cut through their discussion. “If we’re going to learn more about the little ooglie booglies inside you, we need that file. Barton’s the best man for the job because he’s the most subtle. The fact that the two of you have played tonsil hockey doesn’t change that.”

Phil wanted to snarl at him, but Stark was right. If he’d been planning a mission, he wouldn’t have hesitated to send Clint in. But this was different.

“The fate of the world doesn’t hang in the balance with the success of this mission,” Phil argued.

“You’re right,” Clint said. “This one’s more important to me.”

“That’s why you shouldn’t go in,” Phil said. “It’s too personal.”

“Do you trust me?” Clint said.

“Of course I trust you.”

“Then trust me to do this and be smart about it,” Clint said.

Phil sighed in resignation, but still opened his mouth to say something. Clint kissed him silent.

“Alright, but . . . .”

Clint kissed him again.

“You know you can’t . . . .”

Apparently Clint could. Phil huffed when Clint pulled back this time.

Clint smiled at Phil’s response. “I can do this.”

“I know you can,” Phil said. “I worry.”

“You never worried before,” Clint said, sounding as if he didn’t know whether to be pleased or irritated about that.

“Yes, I did,” Phil said. “Be careful.”

Clint’s smile was blinding. “If I can’t get it now, I’ll try again later. I won’t screw this up.”

“That wasn’t my concern,” Phil said. “But I’d like ears on this op, if that’s okay with you.”

“You want to be in my ear again?” Clint said.

“Oh my god,” Stark groaned. “Quit flirting and go get that file.”

While Clint went to change into clothes more appropriate for practice, Natasha went to get the comms out of the Avenger’s equipment. Natasha returned before Clint and handed out comms all around. Stark, Banner and Natasha put theirs in; Phil held onto his.

When Clint returned, he took the collapsable blow from Stark’s workbench and stowed it inside his duffel bag, then took the comm from Natasha and put it in.

“Hurry back,” Phil said softly.

Clint smirked.

“I didn’t mean . . . ! And for god’s sake, don’t _rush_!”

Clint laughed, then gave Phil a kiss, uncaring that they had an audience. Clint and Natasha were gone before he could reciprocate. He placed the comm in his ear.

“Ah, young love,” Stark said.

“Bite me, Stark, you’re just jealous,” Clint said.

“I’m going to tell Pepper you said that,” Stark said.

“Perhaps we should do a comm check,” Phil said tartly.

“You’re coming in loud and clear, boss,” Clint said. The words were serious, but Phil could hear the smile in his voice.

“Check,” Natasha said.

Phil looked at Banner and Stark, and both men checked in, though Stark complained about the need for it since they were sitting right there.

“Stay on comms, both of you, please,” Phil said.

Clint and Natasha answered in the affirmative, and with the sound of their familiar chatter in his ear, Phil noticed that Stark had brought up a street map and was tracking Clint and Natasha’s progress from Stark Tower to SHEILD HQ on it.

“So,” Natasha said, and at first Phil didn’t think anything of it. “ _Is_ he a good kisser?”

It took Phil a moment to realize what she was talking about, but by then Clint had responded with a softly moaned, “Mmm.”

“On a scale of 1 to 10?”

“Natasha,” Phil began.

“12,” Clint said.

“If the two of you wouldn’t mind,” Phil said.

“We don’t mind at all, boss,” Clint said, laughter in his voice. “We’re there.”

Phil didn’t want to look in Stark’s direction, but he wanted to check the map. The GPS dots that represented Clint and Natasha had arrived at SHIELD HQ. Finally Phil couldn’t put it off any longer without it being obvious he was ignoring Stark. When Phil looked at him, Stark was grinning.

“I’m impressed,” Stark said. “Of course, Barton could just have low standards.”

“Fuck you, Stark,” Clint said. “My standards are high. Look what I held out for.”

“Where are you?” Phil said, thinking of the op despite the flush heating his cheeks.

“We’re alone in the elevator,” Clint said.

When Phil looked back at the map, it had been replaced by a virtual representation of the SHIELD HQ floor plan.

“How did you get that?” Phil said.

Stark rolled his eyes. “You’re joking, right?”

Phil didn’t answer. Instead he concentrated on the moving dots. They reached the practice range and Natasha scared away the only agent using the facility that late by virtue of asking if he wanted to spar with her while Clint practiced.

Natasha snorted when he made up an excuse and hurried out of the room. Phil shook his head. Once they were alone, Clint hid his duffel bag and Natasha gave him a leg up into the ceiling. Clint checked in, and then went radio silent. All Phil had was the dot that made its way from the practice range to Fury’s office to follow what was going on.

Natasha waited a few minutes and then left the practice range to recon. HQ was less busy at night than during the day, but there were still agents there planning or overseeing ops, teams leaving or returning.

Phil paced, eyes on the floor plan, tensing up even as relief flooded him at the sound of Clint’s voice reporting in. “I’m in. Camera’s disabled.”

“Roger,” Phil acknowledged. He restrained himself from telling Clint to be careful. There was letting Clint know he was concerned, and then there was undermining his confidence.

Phil imagined Clint surveying the office and choosing a drawer or cabinet and picking the lock.

“No names on the files, just numbers,” Clint said.

Phil repeated the file number, hoping that Fury would’ve used the same for the decoy and physical copy.

“Not here,” Clint said. “I’ll come back for a closer look if I can’t find it in any of the other drawers.”

And if they had time, Phil thought. There was no telling where Fury was, or how long he’d been gone already. Phil thought of asking Stark if he had the code to Fury’s tracker, but if he had he probably would have already found him in the building, and if he didn’t, well, Phil didn’t want to give him any more ideas.

Clint had no luck finding the file number even after he checked all the drawers and cabinets.

“Look for a hidden compartment,” Phil said, remembering his own desk.

“Where?” Clint said, knowing they were running out of time.

“I’ve found Fury in the cafeteria,” Natasha said. “I’m going off comms,” she said before Phil could tell her to get out of there.

“Damn it,” Phil swore. “Alright,” he said to Clint. “The desk drawer with the files first. Take the files out. Do the dimensions inside match the outside? Does the bottom or back sound hollow?”

“Not this drawer,” Clint said.

“Okay, check the others. It will probably be in the desk so he can keep it close.”

“The middle drawer’s locked,” Clint said. There was silence as he picked the lock.

“Pull it all the way out,” Phil said.

“No hidden compartment, but . . . . Would you believe he’s got something taped underneath?”

“Old school,” Stark said.

Phil held his breath until Clint said, “Found it.”

Phil released a deep breath, relieved that they’d found the file, and that Clint could get out of there. He waited patiently for Clint to clean up all evidence that he’d been there, but still the dot didn’t move. “Why aren’t you getting out of there?” Phil said.

“I’m taking pictures of the file,” Clint said.

“Just take the damned file and get out,” Stark said.

“If we run out of time,” Clint said absently. “We don’t want Fury to know we know, right?”

Phil wanted to tell Clint to get the hell out of there, but he knew Clint was right. They’d been so careful, no sense giving the game away now if they didn’t have to.

“Fine,” Phil said. “Just . . . .”

“I won’t take any unnecessary chances, sir,” Clint said.

Phil sighed. “You always take chances.”

Clint chuckled. “That’s because I was trying to impress you.”

“It worked,” Phil said. “So you don’t need to do that anymore, and that’s an order, Barton.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Fury’s on his way back to his office,” Natasha said. “I couldn’t delay him any longer without it looking suspicious.”

Phil was hit with several emotions at once – relief at hearing Natasha’s voice, the desire to yell at her for going off comms and worrying him, and concern for Clint. One took precedence over the others right now.

“Get out of there, Clint,” Phil said.

“Almost done,” Clint said. He sounded casual, but there was an underlying tightness in his voice that assured Phil he wasn’t taking this matter lightly. Still, Phil had to bite his tongue to keep from saying things that would only be a distraction.

“Natasha, status?” Phil asked.

“I’m heading back to the practice range,” Natasha said. “ETA three minutes.”

Phil stared at the floor plan, the dot that was Clint seemed to vibrate as he moved around the room and put things back to order so Fury remained unaware of the break in. Phil’s entire body vibrated in time with the dot. Finally the dot appeared to jump higher on one vibration and Clint’s voice came over the comms.

“I’m out.”

“Natasha will be waiting for you,” Phil said in lieu of the exhortation for Clint to hurry up. He couldn’t let himself relax yet because the mission wasn’t over. Clint was still moving through the ceiling and Fury could notice that something was out of place at any moment. Phil wouldn’t feel better until Clint and Natasha were out of the building, and even then it could all go spectacularly wrong, but it wouldn’t do any good for Phil to broadcast his concerns. Still, he couldn’t hide his sigh of relief when Natasha finally said, “I’ve got him.”

Phil held his breath until they were out of the building and on their way back to Stark Tower. Even then, Phil didn’t remove the comm, and he was grateful when Stark switched back to the street map so he could continue to monitor their progress.

“Phil.”

Phil turned in surprise at Pepper’s voice. She and Steve stood inside the door next to Banner, and Phil hadn’t even heard them come in. They both looked surprised to see him, but not shocked, so Banner must’ve filled them in while Phil had been preoccupied.

“Pepper,” Phil said, and then she was in his arms, alternating between hugging him and telling him how much she had missed him, and punching him in the arm for having put her through that.

Steve came over and shook Phil’s hand and welcomed him back, which felt weird.

“Just back and already running an op?” Pepper teased, indicating the comm in his ear.

“It was Clint and Natasha’s op,” Phil said. “They just let me listen in.”

While Phil was distracted with Pepper, Clint and Natasha made it back to Stark Tower. JARVIS announced that they were on their way to the lab just as the door opened and they spilled into the room. Phil looked them both over, but they were fine, grinning and high from the adrenaline of a successful mission.

Phil was so happy and relieved to see Clint that he strode over and grabbed him, pulled him in for a kiss. Clint barely hesitated before sliding his arms around Phil and deepening the kiss, as if they’d always greeted each other like this after an op.

“Is this new?” Pepper said. “I feel like I would’ve known if this wasn’t new.”

“It’s new. And not,” Natasha said, which summed them up pretty perfectly.

Phil broke the kiss and cleared his throat, but he didn’t pull out of Clint’s arms. “I’m glad you, both of you, made it back safely,” he said, ignoring Clint’s smirk. “Did you, um, get the, uh . . . .” Phil was having trouble remembering what the objective had been with Clint warm and firm against him.

“Copy of the file?” Clint said, holding up the small camera.

“Yes,” Phil said as Clint placed the camera in his hand. “Thank you,” he said. He knew that Clint had done this for him, and for no other reason.

Phil handed the camera over to Stark without releasing Clint entirely. Phil thought it should bother him how much he was leaning on Clint right now, but Clint didn’t seem to mind and it was nice to have someone be there because they wanted to and not because they had to.

“I’d like a copy as well,” Phil said. “Physical only. But not until tomorrow. I think you’ve all put in enough time on this today. Thank you.”

Phil didn’t know exactly what time it was, but he felt as if he’d been in Stark’s lab for several days, instead of just one really long day.

“It is getting late,” Pepper agreed. “And if the delicious smell that greeted me when I got home can be believed, Steve’s been cooking.”

“It’s just beef stew,” Steve said. “And homemade bread.”

“Steve cooked? I could eat,” Stark said eagerly. “And maybe we should have some wine to celebrate Agent’s return to us.”

Phil was thrown a little by both the sentiment and the implied invitation. “I don’t want to intrude,” he said, but no one except Clint was paying attention.

Stark and Pepper were arguing over the type of wine to get out, Banner was trying to guess the secret ingredient in Steve’s stew, and Natasha appeared to be writing a sonnet to Steve’s bread.

“What part of us missing the hell out of you makes you think you’d be intruding?” Clint said with fond exasperation. His expression shuttered. “Unless you don’t want . . . .”

“No,” Phil said more sharply than he’d intended. “No, never that. It’s just . . . I’m afraid I may want _too_ much.”

“That wouldn’t be possible,” Clint said, but was interrupted by JARVIS before he could say more.

“Agent Barton, Agent Coulson, I apologize for interrupting, but Mr. Stark wanted me to inform you that ‘if you snooze, you lose,’ and they’re neither saving you stew nor wine if you don’t get your asses down there.” There was a pause before JARVIS continued. “And if you require condoms you can borrow some from Mr. Stark if . . . . I refuse to pass on the rest of the message.”

“That’s greatly appreciated, JARVIS,” Phil said, pinching Clint’s arm when he started laughing and couldn’t stop.

“Told . . . told you we all missed you,” Clint said between chuckles as he took Phil’s arm and led him to the elevator.

Steve’s beef stew was delicious, and the wine Pepper had chosen a perfect complement, and by the time he’d finished eating Phil was close to dropping off. He let his mind drift, thinking of nothing in particular as the friendly, and sometimes boisterous conversation washed over him.

“Hey,” Clint said softly, pulling Phil out of the half-doze he’d fallen into.

Phil’s eyes found Clint’s face, and the smile that broadened when Phil’s gaze finally focused on him. “Sorry,” he said.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Clint said. He slid his chair back. “Come on, let’s call it a night.”

“Yeah,” Phil said reluctantly. “I should probably be going.” Even though he couldn’t keep his eyes open, Phil didn’t want to leave, but the only other option was falling asleep at the table, which wasn’t really an option at all, and not just because Stark would probably take a photo and post it on the SHIELD intranet.

There was a hug from Pepper, and surprisingly, Natasha as well, a clap to the shoulder from Banner, a handshake from Steve, and a smirk from Stark before Clint took Phil’s hand and guided him to the elevator. It felt nice, and Phil dreaded the moment he’d have to release Clint’s hand so they could part.

The elevator ride suddenly registered in Phil’s brain. “We’re going up.”

“Yes.”

“I know I’m a little bit out of it, but shouldn’t we be going down?”

Just then the doors slid open and Clint ushered Phil off the elevator into what looked like a small sitting room.

“Where are we?” Phil asked.

“My rooms,” Clint said. “I’d like it if you stayed with me tonight.”

Phil blushed. “That’s a lovely thought – really, really lovely – but I don’t think I’m up to anything other than sleeping tonight.”

“Pity,” Clint said with a smirk. “Good thing I just want to hold you. I want to wake up next to you in the middle of the night and feel you in my arms and know I didn’t dream this all up.”

“Oh,” Phil said, overwhelmed as much by Clint’s feelings for him, as his own for Clint. “That doesn’t sound too strenuous.”

“Come on.” Clint led Phil to the middle of his bedroom where he stopped and ran his hand down Phil’s arm. “Have I mentioned how much I love this sweater? I always wondered what was under those suits.”

“Nothing special,” Phil said. “And certainly not a sweater,” he added, trying for tart, but failing pretty miserably because of Clint’s hands feeling up his sweater.

Clint’s hands slipped beneath the sweater and raised it up. Phil slapped at Clint’s hands, which made him laugh.

“I can manage to get undressed myself,” Phil said.

Clint crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s see it, then.”

“You need to get undressed, too,” Phil said, not the slightest bit embarrassed to have Clint looking at him like that. Or so he told himself.

Clint gave him a knowing look, but sat down to untie his boots. Phil raised the sweater over his head, folded it, and found a chair to lay it over. When he turned around, Clint’s eyes jerked guiltily to Phil’s face. Phil raised his eyebrows.

“You should wear jeans more often,” Clint said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Phil refused to blush at the compliment. “Is that so?” he said as he toed off his loafers. He dropped his hands to the waistband of his jeans and made the mistake of glancing up. Clint had removed his shirt and the sight of bare skin and rippling muscles he’d seen plenty of times in the past suddenly was enough to make Phil’s mouth go dry.

“Well, you should never wear shirts,” Phil said before his brain caught up with his mouth.

Clint smirked at Phil over his shoulder, then prowled across the room to him. Clint kissed Phil as he helped him out of his jeans. Phil was breathless with the want that hit him in the gut, but he reflexively grabbed Clint’s wrist when he started to lift the hem of the t-shirt Phil had worn under the sweater.

Phil was embarrassed by the strength of his own reaction, and he looked away from Clint, afraid at what expression he might find on his face. He was surprised to feel Clint’s lips on his neck, brushing lightly against sensitive skin as he kissed a trail to the corner of Phil’s jaw.

“You’re not going to disgust me,” Clint said gently. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Phil opened his mouth to deny it, but the lie wouldn’t come. Clint pressed his face to Phil’s neck and slid his fingers beneath the t-shirt. Phil flexed his fingers around Clint’s wrist, but didn’t attempt to stop him. He closed his own eyes as the tips of Clint’s fingers explored the scar on his chest, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

Just when Phil thought Clint was finished, he slid his hand around to Phil’s back and started anew. Phil had never thought of his scar as an erogenous zone, but Clint’s touch was eliciting an unexpected reaction that surprised a soft moan out of Phil. Or perhaps it was Clint’s lips and tongue mouthing at his neck, most certainly leaving a mark despite the gentleness of the suction.

“Clint.”

It came out as a low whisper, and Clint’s only reaction was to raise his head so he could capture Phil’s lips in a kiss that demanded nothing, and yet asked for the world.

“You don’t have to be so careful with me,” Phil said. Despite all evidence to the contrary.

“I do,” Clint said. “I really do.”

“I won’t break,” Phil said as Clint kissed along his jaw.

“I might,” Clint admitted, and then looked annoyed at himself for it.

Phil hugged Clint then, and pressed his face to the side of Clint’s head. “Let’s go to bed.”

They finished getting undressed, Phil his socks, Clint his pants and socks, and then they climbed into the bed, Phil first with Clint right behind him. Phil tried to turn over so he could face Clint, but Clint stopped him, snuggling up behind Phil until they were spooning, Clint’s arm over Phil, his hand pressed to Phil’s heart over the t-shirt.

“I’m the big spoon tonight,” Clint said, words coming out a little slurred as sleep overcame them. “When I die and come back, you can be the big spoon.”

“I hope not,” Phil said.

~*~*~*~

The only good thing about morning was that Clint had released his desperate hold on Phil and he could roll over to look at him. Clint was still asleep. He was on his stomach, arms under the pillow his face was smooshed into, hair sticking up. The sheet was down just low enough so that Phil could see Clint’s shoulders and upper back. He was torn between pulling the sheet up and tucking it in around Clint’s neck, and staring.

“Are you objectifying me?” Clint said, voice rough from sleep and muffled by the pillow.

“Just a little bit,” Phil said.

“Oh, well, that’s okay, then,” Clint said, amused. He stretched, making it impossible for Phil to keep his fingers off him, then rolled to his side, smiling as Phil’s fingers dragged a trail across his skin.

“Morning,” Clint said.

“Morning,” Phil said back.

Clint leaned in for a kiss, a dry press of lips. Phil was cognizant of his morning breath and put his hand against Clint’s chest when he leaned in for another kiss.

“I’ve got . . . .”

Clint gently removed Phil’s hand, rolled Phil to his back, and moved over him.

“One of my fantasies was waking up next to you,” Clint said. “Lazy morning kisses. Only getting out of bed to eat. Keeping you naked and too fucked out to care about anything else.”

Phil swallowed hard, but before he could reply to that Clint kissed him again. And when Clint’s tongue sought entrance, Phil opened up and let him in.

They showered separately. They must’ve kissed for twenty minutes, and they’d both been hard in their boxers, but Clint hadn’t pushed for more. When JARVIS announced that breakfast was ready, Phil remembered that he needed to check on his team, which had been largely forgotten in the events of yesterday. He said as much to Clint.

“Will you tell me about them?” Clint said.

“Of course,” Phil said. “In fact, I’ll introduce you.”

Clint’s face had lit up and he’d practically shoved Phil into the shower first so they could get their day started.

Breakfast was full of knowing smirks (mostly Stark), curious looks (Banner and Steve), and warm smiles (Pepper and Natasha), but Phil had no intention of either confirming or denying. Despite his protest, Clint returned with Phil to his apartment. Everything was as he’d left it. Phil exchanged jeans and sweater for the suit in which he’d started out the day before while Clint explored the apartment.

Clint gave a low whistle when Phil stepped out of the bedroom, and ran his hands over the suit jacket as he had the sweater. “Knowing what’s under the suits makes them even sexier.”

“You think my suits are sexy?”

“Mmm,” Clint said. “My fantasies just got a lot more material.”

Phil raised his eyebrows.

“Me calling you sir and going to my knees for you, unzipping you with my teeth and taking you out, sucking you off with your hand in my hair, directing me, telling me . . . .”

“Not to get anything on my suit, I hope,” Phil said, and Clint shuddered.

“That just seemed so real.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Phil said, sliding his hand over Clint’s back. “And don’t share any more fantasies with me until we’re in a position to do something about them.”

“Really? Because I have a lot more.”

It took every ounce of self-control to not throw Clint down on the couch and let him share every single one of those fantasies.

They arrived at SHIELD HQ separately after having made plans to meet for lunch. Phil felt the phantom touch of Clint’s fingers against his palm for the rest of the morning as he met with Fury and told him a story about spending a quiet afternoon and evening at his apartment, and then sought out each member of his team to check on them.

Fitz and Simmons were, unsurprisingly, in R&D, checking out all the new toys; Ward and Skye were in the gym (“He’s making me work extra hard because he can’t,” Skye complained. “I thought we were on vacation.” “Those reflexes aren’t going to hone themselves.”); and Melinda was in the lounge catching up on recent mission reports so she knew what was going on in the world outside the Bus with regard to their sworn enemies. Before he left them, Phil told each of them that they’d be having a team lunch in the cafeteria.

Phil’s next stop was the practice range, where he stood behind the one-way glass in the observation room and watched Clint fill the target with arrows. He wasn’t the slightest bit surprised that Fury found him there. They both watched Clint in silence until Phil broke it.

“You didn’t tell them.”

He didn’t need to clarify what he was talking about, or who ‘them’ was.

“No.”

“You told me you’d tell them.”

“And I would’ve,” Fury said placidly. “When they needed to know.”

“When would that have been?” Phil said.

Fury didn’t answer the question, just said, “And you can’t tell them, either.”

Phil blinked at Fury. “I didn’t,” he said. “But they found out anyway.”

Fury sighed. “Damn it, Phil . . . .”

Phil checked his watch. “I’ve got to go. I’m meeting my team for lunch.”

“Stay away from Barton and Romanov,” Fury said.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Phil said. And Fury really should’ve known that telling Phil not to do anything only ensured that he did it.

“Things are happening out there in the world,” Fury said, “and they don’t need the distraction.”

“The distraction of knowing I’m alive?” Phil said. “Hmm. That’s too bad, because I plan on distracting the hell out of Barton later tonight. All night.”

Fury covered his eyes as if that would delete the image from his brain. “You better be fucking kidding me, and either way, TMI.”

“I’m not joking, but if it’s a problem you’ll have my resignation on your desk after lunch.”

“You’re not quitting.”

“Resigning,” Phil clarified. “A man dies for 40 seconds . . . .”

“It was 8.”

“. . . and it makes him rethink what’s important in life.”

“You’d throw it all away for Barton?”

“And be getting the better deal,” Phil said. “Excuse me, Director, I’m going to get Clint for lunch. I promised to introduce him to my team.”

Phil heard Fury’s groan as he stepped out of the observation room and closed the door behind him. He took a breath before he opened the door to the practice range and stepped inside. He stood silently by the door and watched Clint. The confidence in his stance, the ripple of muscle, the knowledge that he’d hit his target every time – the entire package of Clint Barton shooting his bow was a turn on for Phil. One he could now indulge in.

Clint slowly lowered his bow and studied the target. “I know you’re there,” he said.

“I could’ve been anyone,” Phil said, taking a step further into the room.

“You could never be just anyone,” Clint said, then glanced at Phil with an expression that made his breath catch. “Besides, your eyes feel different on me. They always have.”

Clint left Phil to ponder that as he retrieved his arrows. Phil moved closer and watched Clint pack away his bow and quiver.

“Always?” Phil said to Clint’s bowed head.

Clint’s fingers froze for a moment, then finished their task. He glanced up at Phil through his lashes. “Always.”

“Hmm,” Phil said. He hadn’t realized he’d watched Clint as much as Clint just implied he’d done. “I didn’t know I was that transparent.”

“You’re not,” Clint said. “I pay attention, too.”

When he stood, Clint reached out for Phil’s hand, then aborted the movement. Phil grabbed Clint’s hand before he could pull it back.

“PDAs are probably a bad idea,” Phil said as he held Clint’s hand.

“Probably,” Clint said, not quite an agreement.

“We’d have to be discreet,” Phil said.

“I can be discreet,” Clint said.

Phil leaned in for a kiss because he couldn’t resist any longer. “I should probably tell you that Fury knows about us.” He indicated their joined hands.

“Is that gonna be a problem?”

Phil shrugged. “If it is, I’ve already told him to expect my resignation.”

Clint looked gobsmacked by that revelation. “Phil, you can’t . . . .“

Phil pressed a finger to Clint’s lips, silencing him more from the surprise of it. “We’ll talk about it later, if it becomes an issue. For now, you just need to know that I’m very serious about this.” Phil didn’t know why that made him flush. “About us.”

Clint’s smile made Phil feel warm all over.

“Besides, we have a lunch date we’re late for.”

“Oh, yeah,” Clint said, suddenly looking nervous.

“What’s wrong?” Phil asked.

“What if they don’t like me?”

“Why wouldn’t they like you?” Phil said, honestly confused.

Clint huffed a laugh. “This might come as a surprise to you, since you’re obviously incredibly biased, but a lot of people don’t like me.”

“Then they’re idiots,” Phil said. “And my team aren’t idiots. I handpicked them myself, you know. The only limitation Fury put on me was that I couldn’t have you or Natasha, since you were both busy with the Avenger Initiative. Individually, they’re each very talented, but they don’t really work well as a team yet.”

Clint snorted. “Sounds familiar. Why’d you choose them, then?”

“Potential,” Phil said. “Come see how they’re doing so far.”

Phil held Clint’s hand until they reached the door, squeezed it before letting go. Clint stowed his bow in his locker and they headed to the cafeteria. Most of the people they passed ignored them, but a few gave them strange looks.

“They’re probably wondering what you’re doing with me after everything . . . that happened,” Clint said, his voice tight.

“They’re probably wondering if they’re seeing a ghost,” Phil said, startling a laugh out of Clint.

Phil found his team already seated around a table and waved to let them know he’d spotted them. He and Clint got in line to get their food, both of them ignoring the whispers until they’d almost reached the table and Phil’s team realized that he and Clint were both coming over.

“Oh my god, is that Hawkeye with A.C.?” Skye stage whispered.

“Subtle,” Clint mumbled to Phil, and he had to bite back a smile.

At the table Phil put his tray down at the empty spot they’d left for him and pulled over another chair. Everyone scooched around to make room. Once they were seated, Phil made introductions.

“Clint, this is my team, Agent May, Agents Fitz and Simmons, Skye, and Agent Ward. Everyone, this is Agent Barton.”

“Nice to meet you,” Clint said, on his best behavior. “Please, call me Clint.”

“Hawkeye just said we could call him Clint,” Skye gushed, then jerked when someone, probably Simmons, kicked her under the table.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Simmons told Clint.

Melinda studied Phil with a suspiciously blank expression on her face while Ward frowned at Clint. Fitz broke the standoff by asking about Clint’s bow, which Clint was willing to talk about at length.

Phil was in no hurry to leave the table even after they’d finished eating. He was enjoying the camaraderie of sitting next to Clint and listening to him speak, watching as he and Phil’s new team got to know each other. Even Ward unbent enough to ask Clint some questions about his shooting style. But it couldn’t last indefinitely, and they were eventually interrupted by Natasha, who’d come looking for Clint.

Phil introduced Natasha to his team, and they appeared even more excited to meet her than they’d been to meet Clint. Even Melinda looked intrigued.

“Sorry to drag Clint away,” Natasha said, “but he promised to spar with me.”

“Nat,” Clint complained. “I just ate.”

Natasha shrugged. “If you think you can’t handle it.”

“That reverse psychological babble doesn’t work on me,” Clint said.

“Bwok,” Natasha did a pretty decent impression of a chicken, which almost made Phil laugh out loud.

Clint crossed his arms over his chest. “Weak,” he said.

Natasha made the sound again, and this time flapped her arms.

“I will not be . . . .”

“You can go,” Phil said.

“Oh, thank god!” Clint said, jumping up so fast he nearly knocked over his chair and only Melinda’s quick reflexes caught it. He leaned down and absently bussed Phil’s lips before following Natasha, his, “I’ll show you chicken,” loud enough for the entire cafeteria to hear.

“Come on,” Phil said as he stood, picking up his tray and Clint’s. “Let’s go watch.”

“We can really watch?” Ward said, trying not to sound as interested as Phil knew he had to be.

“Yes,” Phil said. “We’ll have to hurry, though, because once word gets out the room’ll fill up quickly.”

“How long has this been going on?” Melinda said as they put up their trays and turned to leave.

Phil didn’t bother pretending to misunderstand. “It’s recent.”

“Is he . . . ?” Skye asked.

“Yes,” Phil said, as he watched Clint add a little extra swagger to his walk for Phil’s benefit, and then look back and wink at Phil over his shoulder.

“Wow,” Skye said. “I have to admit, A.C., I did not see this one coming.”

“Neither did I,” Phil said. “Come on, you don’t want to miss the beginning. Natasha toys with him a little bit before she wipes the floor with him.”

Phil had come to New York seeking answers about himself, and he’d found something even better. Fuck trusting the system, Phil was going to put his trust in Clint. In them.

The End


End file.
